


Follow Me Into The Dark

by deanwantspie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Castiel, Demon Dean Winchester, Drunk Sam, M/M, Post 9x23, Post-Episode: s09e23 Do You Believe In Miracles?, celestial!cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-26 04:01:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1673930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deanwantspie/pseuds/deanwantspie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam enters the room and does a double take as a pair of blue eyes flicker to him, and then a pair of equally black ones behind that. Castiel holds up his hand, stopping Sam, who’s sober now and knows exactly what he sees in front of him. It’s not a hallucination.</p><p> “Heya, Sammy.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Follow Me Into The Dark

‘Angels are watching over you.’

It’s the last words Mary says to Dean. It’s the sentence the doctor tells him when he miraculously lives. It’s the phrase that Sam realises might be true, even if Dean doesn’t believe it.

And Dean, in all his atheistic beliefs, always found the idea of angels ridiculous, and kind of hopeless. They hunt things that shouldn’t exist but do, and that’s just normal for him. He doesn’t get surprised when he reads urban legends about monsters that eat humans, or creatures that can turn into them. That’s normal. He doesn’t like it, but it is very much in his comfort zone to imagine those things.

But angels are an entirely different story.

He’s not ignorant about them – he’s read the bible, because Mary always wanted him to, so he knows what they are. Stereotypically, they’re little fluffy kids wearing next to nothing who dance and sing or whatever. While he doesn’t buy into all of that, he doesn’t believe that they’re strong warriors of God who fight His battles, either. He doesn’t believe in them, period. He is very much the seeing-is-believing type, which is possibly the worst thing to be for a hunter. Idealistically, they wouldn’t exist and wouldn’t complicate things.

However, God hates him, and goes out of his way to screw things up for him.

Sure, he’s grateful that an angel personally pulled him out of the pit and back up to the world. And he’s thankful that an angel has sacrificed himself to save Dean, as if he were worth saving. But, God obviously wanted to fuck with him, because he just had to choose _Castiel_.

He loves Cas. Really. He looks at Cas like he looks at Sam and like he did at Bobby, Ellen and Jo. But, despite being an angel, Cas somehow makes more mistakes than all of them _combined_. With all due respect, he does do it in the best way, because he stays true to his heart, or whatever. However, it does make average demon hunting, or anything else for that matter, a pain in the ass. For example, Cas, despite how hard he tries, cannot seem to grasp the concept of killing first and asking questions later. Although this method has fucked Dean over in the past, it’s one he sticks to. The monsters have a few seconds to explain, or reason, or prove Dean wrong before he kills them. Cas doesn’t do this, because he enjoys the inquisition. Asking why, giving second chances. He’s lived in the house of God for too long, Dean decides, because He is always known for forgiveness. Dean likes to think he doesn’t believe this, but he does, because he and Sam have been saved more times than they deserve.

Dean tries to divert his attention from the mirror by the bed, avoiding his reflection. _Demon_. While he’s glad that he’s got a second chance at life – he’s loath to admit it, because he knows it means he’s a selfish, egocentric bastard – he wishes that it wasn’t as a demon. The thing they hunt. The thing that killed Mary, John, Jessica, and anyone else that ever meant anything to them. Ellen. Jo. Ash.

He lies back down and closes his eyes, wishing for sleep to come, although that seems impossible now.

He could never tell Sam. It’s been days since Crowley visited, and there’s been no signs of him since – Dean’s not sure if he’s happy about that or not. Sam’s come and gone, praying next to him, or crying, or shouting. Mostly drinking, or already drunk. Dean just lies there, unmoving, something that seems to come naturally to him now. He hates hearing Sammy like this, but he’d hate it more if Sam saw his brother as a demon. He’d exorcise him, thinking the real Dean would snap back into his meat-suit. And Dean can’t bear to see the agony on his little brother’s face, so he shuts his eyes, lays still, and tries anything to block out the sounds of Sam’s verbalized pain.

Dean knows that _feeling_ , holding Sam as an item of sentimental value, is basically unheard of for a demon. They don’t have the capability to feel, not even Crowley after his stint with the human blood. Demon apathy is unheard of, and here Dean is, feeling like his chest might cave in as his brother throws a bottle around the room, shards of glass falling on the floor like rain. A brush of wind and a familiar voice makes its way back to him, scratching through his mind. He can’t ignore Cas. It’s hard enough ignoring Sam, but Cas already knows about this, he can tell. The resignation in his voice, the wherewithal to ask the younger hunter to leave. When Sam replies with an argumentative comment fuelled by alcohol, lack of sleep and the acidic tone of loss, there is a thud against the floor and silence in the room for a few moments. It’s infuriating for Dean to not have the ability of using his sight – he can open his eyes if he wants to, but he’s afraid of Sam, and after a thought, he realises he’s afraid of Cas, too. He’s seen the attitude Cas faces demons with, and he wouldn’t be able to stand it if his angel treated him the same away. Cas is the constant – predictable – when it comes to Dean. They trust each other, and whatever arguments come between them, that doesn’t change.

After those excruciating moments of silence, Dean decides it’s okay to open his eyes, and he sees things again in the new way that he will never grow accustomed to. For example, the angel perched by the end of his bed, is no longer the Jimmy Novak vessel that he knows. Cas is this life form of energy, blue and purple and white flowing ribbons of light that circle the room. While Cas disguised as a human was - as much as Dean hates to admit it – attractive enough, this Castiel, an angel, a warrior, is a celestial pulse of life and light. He’s not an astronomer, Dean. He only knows three constellations (The Big Dipper, Perseus and Orion), and he knows next to nothing about space. But he looks at Cas, this new Cas, and he sees every star in every galaxy, whispers of distant planets and the fire of burning suns that aren’t known yet, condensed into a length of illumination and wisps of golden clouds. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever get used to seeing Cas like this. He’s not sure if he wants to.

“Cas…” He starts, his voice rusty and empty, yet filled with a harshness that he can’t escape. He has no idea what he’s going to say to him, this angelic soldier watching him.

“In the Bible,” He says, not meeting Dean’s eyes, watching his human hands with curiosity. Dean sees this beneath the image of the cosmic radiation around the room. “It is written that God placed the Mark upon Cain to show his mercy. No-one would kill him, because the Mark showed God’s protection over him, even though Cain had killed his own brother. Over time, the Mark, rather than a symbol of protection, grew to be a curse and a burden.” He’s eyes, still as blue as the swirls of light-years passed that gently drift around Cas’ body, flicker to Dean. “It was seen as the ultimate perfidious act. Cain was said to have wandered the desert for years, nomadic, until his guilt and misery killed him.” He drops his gaze.

 “Where’s Sam?” The question bubbles up through his mouth before he can think to stop it.

“He’s in his room. He hasn’t taken your death so lightly,” Cas looks up to Dean accusingly. “I’ve assumed you don’t want him to find out about your demonic development.”

Dean shakes his head, grateful and slightly relieved. “Did you get your grace back?” He sits upright, trying not to look in the mirror.

“Yes. Being in Heaven for long enough…it’s like an energy source for us. Over time, my grace will be restored. My wings are functional enough, for now. It’s more than any angel could’ve asked for.”

“How’d you get back?”

“Metatron told us how to reverse the spell if we promised to spare him.” Cas doesn’t look too happy about the arrangement.

“He’s not dead?” Dean asks, a little harsher than necessary. He can almost _feel_ his wish for Metatron’s death – if anyone deserves to die, it’s him. After everything that he’s done, Dean feels the weight of liquid hatred pulsing through his veins. Castiel notices this, and sits a little further back, a little further away, like he’s _scared_ of Dean.  His energy field surrounding him fluctuates slightly, like a human heart picking up speed. Cas looks back at Dean – as if to reassure himself that it is Dean, his Dean – and regains his equanimity. “No.”

“Cas…” He says again, and for a second time, no words come out. Again, the angel uses this as an excuse to fill in the gaps with his words.

“Your human blood…some of it still resides in your body. You’re still part-human. It won’t take long for you to become a full demon. Dean, you have a few hours. If that.”

Dean feels resignation replace anger, and exhales a heavy breath. That’s it, then. A fully-fledged, hell-bearing demon. The word is foreign for him, despite having been raised with it being synonymous with the thought of his mother. He knows it’s happening – certain thoughts and memories have become twisted, blackened like his own eyes. A few hours.

“I suggest you tell-”

Dean cuts off Cas. “Can you fix me?” The question is blunt, rude and flat. Cas fluctuates again – avoiding the truth. He diverts his eyes and looks towards the door, away from Dean. “Hey! Can you fix me?”

“Dean, I-. Too much of you is tainted by the Mark. We can cure you, though – demons can be cured. You’ve seen it yourself…” He carries on talking, the high-pitched frequency that once deafened Dean in motel rooms and gas stations becoming nothing more than background noise.

“Don’t tell Sammy,” he almost whispers, but he know Cas can hear it. “Whatever you do, don’t you dare tell him, Cas. I mean it.” Cas is, especially for an angel, notorious for keeping the truth from people. Dean hates to admit this, but he knows it’s right. Castiel has lied to him more times than he cares to count.

He nods, becoming a gentler, whiter light. “Of course, Dean.”

Cas stays with him for the next two hours. He’s not put off by the black eyes or acidic words, and Dean is grateful for that. Cas is the thing that’s keeping him that little bit human, although he can already feel that part of him diminishing by the minute. They talk, they reminisce, Cas tells him what Heaven will be like now. Hannah will help him lead the people, although the angel also explains how worried he is about that, because he has a tendency to mess things up. When he says that, Dean forces himself forward and kisses him, and surprises himself even more when Cas kisses back, his celestial being surrounding them both – Dean assumes what he can feel is angel wings.

It’s the last thing, though, as his final drop of humanity fades with that kiss. When he draws back, a menacing smile crosses his face and he hears heavy footsteps making their way towards the room. The angel, now something of less wonder to Dean, steps up, in front of the demon, as if to protect him. A barricade. How sweet, he thinks with another grin.

His humanity left him. Slowly, like drops of it that were disintegrated by acid. And now, suddenly, pernicious thoughts become part of him. He does not care for the angel in front of him, or the younger hunter about to enter the room. He can feel their souls pulsing like life-forms in front of him. He recognizes the surge of power and malice that rest on his fingertips. Not afraid, he looks in the mirror and stares at himself, at his new eyes and new mind.

Sam enters the room and does a double take as a pair of blue eyes flicker to him, and then a pair of equally black ones behind that. Castiel holds up his hand, stopping Sam, who’s sober now and knows exactly what he sees in front of him. It’s not a hallucination.

 “Heya, Sammy.”


End file.
